146 Options
by Today-Only-Happens-Once
Summary: Mike had always kind of liked Harvey's "gun to the head" analogy...until it wasn't just an analogy anymore. No slash. Two-Shot. Beta'd.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! I am back with a new fanfiction! This was inspired by that quote in one of the last episodes where Mike quotes a previous conversation between himself and Harvey by telling Harvey, "...when they put the gun to your head, it's not just give in or get killed. There are 146 other options" and I was like, "I seriously need to write a fanfiction about what happens if that became a non-analogy". So I started to write it, but I got stuck...but then one of my best friends, an****imallover15243, (and you should totally read her story "The Final Shot") unintentionally gave me an idea. So here it is, for real this time.**

**Also, this was beta'd by: the totally awesome animallover15243 (who is my Suits buddy even though she thinks of Harvey as infallible ;) ) and the completely amazing Pheonix on cloud nine (who has yet to write a fanfic for suits that I have not liked...seriously. :) )**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Suits. The magnificent Aaron Korsh does. If **_**I**_** did, Trevor would repeated get kicked in the shin before being run over with a truck...this is why I **_**shouldn't**_** own Suits. ;)**

* * *

Prologue

* * *

Mike swallowed hard and tried to take a deep breath, but panic and fear prevented anything deeper than shallow gulps of air.

For all the distraction that Mike had, the young man was surprised by how hyper-aware he was of his surroundings. He was in Harvey's office, the windows across from Mike displaying the New York skyline in all its late-afternoon glory. The ticking of the clock on Harvey's wall—usually easily ignored—seemed to echo and pound against the associate's eardrums, making Mike think that the clock wanted him to remember what were probably his last seconds alive—_way to think positive, Mike—_as the hands on the clock moved.

And movement was another thing that Mike was exceedingly alert to. He was aware of every move—every step, every flick of a wrist—that the man standing behind him made. Mike knew that Donna was standing outside the office beyond the plexi-glass wall, hopefully with security. The office itself was several times warmer than it was outside—but maybe that was just Mike. After all, Harvey seemed perfectly fine with the temperature.

Actually, Harvey seemed to be keeping his composure remarkably well given the situation currently unfolding. Maybe _that_ was why Mike kept his gaze steadily locked on his boss. If Harvey could be that calm, then maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed. Though Mike knew that it absolutely _was_ as bad as it seemed, downplaying the situation was probably the only thing keeping Mike from full-blown terror. Mike closed his eyes briefly and looked at the ceiling.

_This is normal,_ Mike told himself lamely. _Happens every day._ Mike nearly laughed at the absurdity of the lie.

People didn't barge into law firms and hold a gun against the side of an associate's head every day.

* * *

3 Hours Prior

"Harvey needed to see you five minutes ago," Rachel informed Mike the second he stepped off the elevator. The associate sighed as Rachel placed a file against his chest as she continued walking, not slowing her stride. Mike rolled his eyes at Rachel's behavior, but brushed it off as he glanced at his watch.

He was exactly ten minutes late. At least this time it wasn't his fault. The meeting with the client—which was to brief her on the update from the meeting with Judge Bomer that had occurred earlier that morning—had gone over the allotted time.

Mike took off at a slow jog to Harvey's office, only slowing as he approached Donna's desk and smiled at her. Donna glanced up at him and shook her head. "You're late."

"Yeah," Mike sighed. "Can I go in?"

Donna jerked her head in the direction of the office. "Go."

Mike walked in, and Harvey glanced up at him briefly before turning his attention back to the file laid out on his desk. "You're late."

Mike wondered idly if Donna and Harvey communicated telepathically. "Sorry," Mike apologized as he sat on the leather couch and pulled the files out of his messenger bag. "The meeting ran over—"

"Don't care," Harvey dismissed. "Punctuality is everything, Mike."

"I thought that was appearance," Mike deadpanned.

Harvey looked at him. "_Both_," Harvey said pointedly, and Mike was relieved at the finality the word had. No lecture this time.

"Did you find anything?" Mike asked Harvey as he picked up one of the files he had laid out on the table as he scanned the already-memorized contents.

"Working on it..." Harvey replied, his voice dropping off as a file demanded his attention.

The men worked in silence for several minutes before an embarrassingly obnoxious growl sounded in the office. Mike looked down at his stomach and ducked his head at Harvey's raised eyebrows.

"Did you eat anything?" Harvey asked with a hint of amused exasperation.

Mike looked up at Harvey before looking back down at the file. "Nah. But I'm okay."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "I'm not having an associate pass out in my office because he didn't eat. Go grab something—_fast,"_ Harvey added for emphasis. _"_And then come back."

Mike nodded and left the room. Harvey just shook his head and bit back a smile.

* * *

Mike returned about fifteen minutes later and Harvey eyed him skeptically.

"Did you actually eat something, or did you go flirt with Rachel for fifteen minutes?"

Mike smirked. "Both."

Harvey smiled briefly before nodding back to the pile of files. "Alright, hot shot. Get back to work."

Mike grinned but complied, sitting on the couch and scanning the files as he picked up a highlighter. Mike chewed on the cap in concentration.

"This doesn't make any sense..." he muttered to himself, sifting through the files spread out on the table.

Harvey glanced at him, waiting for Mike to elaborate.

"The company's income doesn't match their expenses," Mike explained, but more to himself than to his boss. "I can't find where it's all going...it's like it just disappears."

"How much is gone?" Harvey asked, frowning when he noticed a similar problem in the financial report in his lap.

"Over..." Mike furrowed his brow in concentration. "20 grand. Embezzlement?" he suggested, though he seriously doubted their client, Bill Rowland, would be behind it.

Harvey shook his head. "He's rich enough. And he wouldn't embezzle from his own company; he cares about it too much."

There was a brief pensive silence before Mike broke it. "Maybe it's not him."

"Someone from inside the company?" Harvey said before he shook his head. "Rowland oversees all monetary income—"

"But Rowland only sees what gets _to_ him." Mike looked up from the couch and slid a file across Harvey's desk to the senior partner. "Look."

Harvey studied the file for a second before looking at Mike. "So you think that someone from another company is coming in and taking their money before it even reaches Rowland."

Mike nodded. "I do."

Harvey tilted his head as he studied Mike. "You think Jack Winchester is involved?" Jack was the client of the opposing council.

Mike nodded again. "It makes sense. Winchester isn't doing this for the money. He doesn't want that, he wants the company."

"And by taking the money, he's causing the company to go bankrupt," Harvey continued, following Mike's train of thought.

Mike smiled slightly, the way he always did when they made a breakthrough. "Exactly. The company goes broke, Winchester files for acquisition, he gets the company, and makes a bit of cash in the meantime."

Harvey narrowed his eyes at the file before them before nodding. "It sounds good, but it's too circumstantial..." Harvey looked at the intercom. "Donna?"

"Scheduling a meeting with Winchester and his lawyers now," Donna replied. "I was half-expecting Mike to tell you that it was "elementary, my dear Watson." "

Mike laughed, but Harvey was shaking his head. "If we're doing the Holmes analogy, then I am Sherlock and the pup is Watson."

"Hey—" Mike began to protest, but Donna cut him off.

"And Mike? Louis needs you to get some briefs done for him before he goes to court at four."

Mike sighed and stood, gathering his things as he asked Harvey, "first you say you're Kirk, now you say you're Sherlock. What's next? Oh Captain, My Captain?"

Harvey shrugged and hid a smile at the kid's _The Dead Poets' Society_ reference. "You said it, not me. Now be a good little puppy and go get your paperwork done so you can be here for the meeting," he told Mike, who tried to hide a sigh of disappointment at having to go do more briefs as he gathered his things and went to his cubicle.

* * *

"Mike—" Louis said as he walked up to the associate's desk, only to cut himself off when Mike handed him a stack of files.

"They're done. _And proofed_," Mike added when Louis opened his mouth. Louis's mouth snapped shut almost comically. The junior partner hovered for a minute before nodding stiffly and walking away. Mike glanced at his watch and felt his eyes widen at the time. He hastily gathered the files and rushed off to Harvey's office.

The young associate was in such a rush that he nearly ran over Harold, only missing him because Mike literally spun out of his way. "Sorry," Mike called over his shoulder.

He reached Donna, who for her part was very good at pretending to _not_ see that less-than-gracefully avoided collision. Mike looked nervously at Harvey's office, sighing with relief when the room beyond the plexi-glass revealed no one besides Harvey. The meeting Winchester had been scheduled for 3:30, and it was now 3:45. Mike was late, but he took a strange sense of solace in that Winchester was running late as well.

"Should I—" Mike began to ask, but cut himself off when Donna quirked an eyebrow at him before simply returning her attention back to the computer screen before her. "Okay," Mike said slowly, taking that as permission to enter with a silent promise to buy Donna flowers to get back into her good graces. Mike walked to the office and, at Harvey's silently annoyed demeanor, began organizing the files for lack of things to do.

Mike and Harvey both looked up at the sound of quick footsteps. Mike stood up, cast a quizzical look to Harvey, and walked towards the door. Both the senior partner and the associate noticed Donna's confused and slightly alarmed look that she threw at Harvey as Jack Winchester barged through the door, looking panicked, borderline hysterical, and almost crazed.

Nobody said anything, Mike and Harvey too confused and Winchester too frantic, before the latter pulled something out of his pocket. The associate turned towards Harvey, and he had just enough time to see Harvey's fleeting horror-stricken expression before he felt something placed against his temple.

A quick glance to the side told Mike that it was a gun.

Crap.

* * *

There was a long, fragile moment of shocked silence. Mike suddenly remembered a conversation he had once had with Harvey months ago. "_...when they put the gun to your head, it's not just give in or get killed. There are 146 other options..._" Mike had told Harvey that during the case with the impressively good opposing council. And Mike had learned that from Harvey.

_Time to start figuring out those 146 options_, Mike thought dumbly before his attention was caught by movement.

Harvey took a step forward, almost casual were it not for the overall tenseness that he seemed to carry at the moment. Mike was thoroughly and openly impressed at how quickly Harvey seemed to collect himself. Harvey almost looked normal, but Mike could tell the subtle differences.

"Take one more step and I shoot," Winchester threatened.

Harvey looked at him with something that Mike could only describe as hesitant certainty. "You won't shoot him, Jack."

"Wanna bet?" Winchester shouted. Harvey didn't respond, instead opting to simply watch Jack carefully, taking in all the body language and frantic glances around the room and nervous swallows.

"You don't want to go through with this, Jack."

"I think I do," Jack shot back, pushing the gun harder into Mike temple for emphasis.

"See, that's the thing," Harvey replied. "You _think_ you do. But do you really? You shoot my associate, and the best case scenario for you? A lifetime sentence in prison on a murder charge."

Winchester laughed bitterly, and Mike took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm himself.

"I'm already going to prison, Specter."

Harvey smiled, but it was too tight and his eyes were too hard for the gesture to mean any show of friendliness. "I said that was your 'best case scenario'. You wanna know what will most likely happen? The security guards that are on their way _right now_ will shoot you where you stand."

Mike breath hitched slightly as Jack cocked the gun. Mike swore he could _hear_ the bullet sliding into place, taunting him with a condemnation to a fate that Mike wasn't ready for.

"Then I might as well take someone down with me," Jack growled.

"Jack—"

"Oh, _shut up_, Specter. Save it, or Mike's brains get blown all over your clean carpet."

There was a brief moment of silence, a beat of tension, before Harvey broke it in a quiet, placating voice. "Can I ask a question?"

Though Mike couldn't see him, he was pretty sure that Winchester rolled his eyes. "What?" he snapped angrily.

Harvey nodded once towards Mike, calmly meeting the younger man's terrified gaze for the first time since the gunman had barged into Harvey Specter's office. "Why him?"

Jack laughed, but it sounded almost manic to Mike's ears. "Because he's important to you."

Harvey arched an eyebrow. "If you were hoping for that, Jack, just point the gun at me. I'm—"

Jack was shaking his head. "Don't deny it!"

Harvey shifted and took a step back, leaning against the front of his desk as he silently studied the gunman for a few quiet moments. "Why would I deny it?" Harvey finally said. "You've done your research. You've made your choice. And nothing I say will change your mind."

Harvey pushed himself off of the front of his desk and walked over to his window, picking up a basketball. "My real question," Harvey said as he examined the ball. "Is why haven't you shot him yet?"

_WHAT?_ Mike's mind shouted in shocked indignation, but fear kept it from leaving his mouth.

"Are you _trying _to get him killed, Specter?"

"I'm asking a question," Harvey threw back as he placed the ball back on the window sill. "You seem so adamant that you are going to kill my associate. Why haven't you yet?"

"Because you haven't given me what I want!" Jack burst out furiously. Mike remained standing as still as he could, but he felt his eyes widen imperceptibly at the desperation that Jack's voice had taken.

"Let me get this straight," Harvey said, sounding suddenly very lawyer-like to Mike. "We refuse to give you what you want, and you pull the trigger. But if we _give_ you what you want, then you will _still_ kill my associate."

"Giving me what I want is the only way I'm letting your associate walk out of here," Winchester snapped back.

"And what is it you want?" Harvey asked calmly.

"You to drop this case."

Mike and Harvey both blinked, and the younger man was pretty sure that his expression of incredulity mirrored that of Harvey's.

Harvey looked at Jack. "You went through _all this_ just to get us to drop the case?"

The gunman refused to answer, staring resolutely at Harvey as he let the barrel of the gun dig harder into Mike's skull.

"Well _that's_ not going to happen."

"Wow, kid," Jack said, and Mike almost jumped at suddenly being addressed .Though Mike was the object of focus in the room, neither Jack nor Harvey had talked to him directly since the former had pulled out a gun and held it against the side of his head. Jack continued. "I can't believe you work for a guy this heartless."

"Hazard of the profession," Mike replied a bit tightly, glancing at Harvey. Harvey's mouth quirked in amusement despite the gravity of the situation.

Jack shook his head quickly and turned his attention back to Harvey. "Drop the case."

"You won't shoot him, Jack."

"Oh, really?" Mike couldn't stop his eyes from growing round as he recognized the threatening challenge in his voice. "You've always been a bit of a gambler, Harvey."

Harvey's eyes grew wide. "Wait—"

And then suddenly: there was a crack of a gunshot, Mike's eyes pinched shut, and Harvey couldn't quite contain the sharp intake of breath.

* * *

At first, Mike thought that he was dead. Completely and utterly dead. Shot to the head in the middle of Pearson Hardman. No chances to make amends, no dramatic final breath, no poetic last words. Just...gone.

But then Mike's overly analytic brain kicked into gear and he remembered something: you never hear the shot that kills you. Mike had read that somewhere. Because bullets travel faster than the speed of sound. But Mike had_ heard_ the gunshot. So did that mean that he wasn't dead? Mike tried to take a deep breath and nearly laughed when he realized he could.

And then Mike's eyes flew open. Because if _he_ wasn't dead, did that mean that Jack had just shot Harvey? Mike's gaze locked onto his boss, who was looking at him with something akin to horror. But Harvey looked to be physically fine.

It puzzled Mike for a brief moment before the pain caught up with him.

It started off as a dull throb, a pulse of pressure in his right hand and Mike looked down at it. _It's bleeding_, Mike thought dumbly. It was a bit of an understatement, considering that his hand was practically _gushing_ blood. It took Mike a long moment for reality to catch up with him.

_He just shot my hand. _The realization hit Mike at the same time the pain did.

Mike clutched his hand to his stomach and doubled over slightly, his face twisted up in a grimace.

"You want to make another gamble, Harvey?" Jack said from somewhere behind Mike. Mike squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to block out the pain. The young man flinched as the warm metal end of the gun was returned to his temple.

Harvey didn't answer, which caused Mike to look up at his boss in surprise. In all the time he had been working for Harvey, he had never seen his boss speechless.

"Mike?" Harvey managed after a beat. If the speechlessness surprised Mike, Harvey's tone left Mike shocked. If it had been anyone but Harvey, Mike would have dared to call it angry, concerned, and...hesitant.

"I'm okay, Harvey," Mike managed to grit out as he tried—perhaps fruitlessly—to stop the bleeding.

Harvey's anger became terrifyingly palpable as the senior partner turned his attention back to the gunman. "Let. Mike. Out."

Jack hesitated for a brief moment before he became defiant again. "Drop the case. Then we'll talk."

"Why do you care...so much about the case?" Mike gasped.

Mike hadn't been expecting the heavy silence that filled the office, the tension threatening to strangle all three of them.

"B-b-because if you win this, I lose _everything_," Jack said, sounding strangely close to tears. "My job. My home. My wife. My daughters. I lose _everything_. I can't...I can't let that happen."

And in those two minutes of silence, filling only with heavy breathing and the distant sound of car horns and New York City, something in Mike's brilliant eidetic mind suddenly clicked.

"I've been there, Jack," Mike admitted into the silence as he stared at the carpet by the corner of Harvey's desk, trying to ignore his agonizing hand. "I know what that's like. But this isn't the way to go, man."

Mike could feel the barrel of the gun shaking. "You have _no idea_ what that's like!"

"When everything—your entire life—hangs by a thread and you don't know what to do or who to turn to?" Mike said, his voice still quietly honest. "When you can't lose what you have because you've lost too much already? When you reach that point that you have to do _something_ to hang on to that thread, so you charge blindly because you are just. That. Desperate?"

The gun was shaking even harder.

Mike continued, his voice so low it was practically a whisper. "I've been there, Jack. And I am _still_ here, living proof there's more out there for you if you are willing to go find it. Don't let this be the end, Jack."

The gun was trembling harder than ever. The associate closed his eyes briefly, recognizing the unsaid air of finality, that whatever Jack did now would be his final decision.

_This is it._

**A/N: Review? There will be another chapter. I am very much looking forward to the next chapter, actually. **

**P.S: I don't know if anybody thinks that what Mike said was melodramatic, but IF you do: think of it this way: wouldn't YOU up it a bit if you were in Mike's situation? **

**Anyways: REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Dah dah dah dah daaaaah! Here it is! Chapter 2! WOO! And sorry it took so long, but this past weekend was**_**OH MY GOSH OPENING WEEKEND!**_** Which means that this past week was HECK WEEK (aka: Production Week. If you are in/have ever been in a stage production, you know EXACTLY WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT! And how insanely busy it is) So it's been crazy. And THEN fanfiction wouldn't let me update, which seriously ticked me off. :P But finally. Chapter 2. **

**Here goes...don't forget to review!**

* * *

_Gram._

_Harvey._

_Jenny._

_Donna._

_Rachel._

Mike's thoughts weren't running in full sentences, just names of people that Mike realized with gut-clenching heartache that he was going to miss if Jack pulled the trigger. The names and pictures of the people that meant everything to Mike. They flashed in his mind like a mantra. Over and over and over again. Not stopping, not slowing. It seemed kind of funny to Mike that his mind seemed to need to remind him of why Mike wanted so desperately to live, even though his fate wasn't up to him anymore.

Mike knew that the gun was shaking so hard it was possible that Jack might just _miss_ him altogether, if he even shot. But Mike also knew that it was false hope: like Mike was trying to grasp at string when he was about to drown in an ocean.

The gun was trembling hard and Mike had the fleeting thought that he wished Jack would just _decide_. Mike didn't know how much more waiting he could take. He either wanted to die or live, not stand there waiting for his fate. And his mind seemed to reject that thought forcefully as it screamed the names again to the point that Mike wondered if Harvey and Jack could _hear_ his thoughts.

_Gram._

_Harvey._

_Jenny._

_Donna._

_Rachel._

_Gram—_

Mike jumped when he heard a loud _bang_, and thought for a moment that he was dead, that Jack had pulled the trigger. Mike Ross: gone out in a not-quite-flame-of-glory kind of death. It wasn't until Mike saw the gun on the floor by his feet that he realized that the bang had been a clatter, and that it meant that Jack had dropped the gun.

He was alive. _Alive._

* * *

Mike wasn't sure if it was the pain from his hand or the crushingly overwhelming emotions that he felt—the surprisingly _intense_ relief—that caused it, but Mike found himself sinking to his knees as the door to Harvey's office opened, security stormed in, and it was a flurry of movement and shouting. But Mike didn't really feel like it was _real_. The movements seemed distant; the voices were muffled and seemed to echo in Mike's head.

Mike's eyes stayed locked on Harvey's floor, not moving. He was vaguely aware that he was still clutching his hand against his stomach and that the pain had intensified. Vaguely aware that the gun by his feet had been picked up by security and secured. Mike found it idly funny that not two minutes ago he had been hyper-aware of everything going on the office, and now he wasn't even sure if he was actually _there_.

He felt a hand gently placed on his shoulder, but he didn't look up. Someone grabbed his chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. It was Harvey Specter.

It was then that reality seemed finally sink in with the associate. Mike felt his hands beginning to shake, and not at all from the pain. Soon he felt his entire body trembling slightly. He broke eye contact with his boss long enough to pull his head out of Harvey's hand, looked back at his boss, and opened his mouth to say something.

Nothing came.

Mike blinked hard, and then a few times rapidly, surprised that he didn't feel tears rising to the surface. He was pretty sure that it was warranted, but none came. He tried to say something to Harvey—what, he didn't know. But he felt like he should say _something_ to rid of that far too vulnerable expression in Harvey's eyes—but all that came out was a choked laugh. And it wasn't humor or even relief—it was the very edge of near hysteria.

He was distantly surprised when Harvey didn't hesitate to pull him into a hug.

"You did good, kid," Harvey whispered in his ear. Mike smiled briefly, using all of his self control to keep himself together. He pulled back and nodded once at Harvey, who nodded once back.

Harvey swallowed, took a deep breath and all traces of the vulnerability and caring expression that Harvey had been openly wearing vanished, replaced instead by a blank, expressionless lawyer. "Can you stand, Mike?"

Mike sucked in a deep breath. "Yeah."

Harvey nodded once, smiled briefly with pride, before standing up and helping Mike do the same. He grabbed Mike by the upper arm and hauled him to his feet. Before either man could say anything more, two paramedics approached them.

"Mr. Specter? Mr. Ross?" the taller one asked. "We need to examine you."

Mike and Harvey both nodded. The one who had spoken guided Harvey out of his office to where medical supplies were waiting, but not before the senior partner patted Mike on the shoulder.

The shorter, bleach blonde paramedic walked up to Mike and smiled reassuringly at him. "May I look at your hand?" he asked.

Mike was surprised that he had almost _forgotten_ about his shot hand. He wordlessly nodded, and the paramedic gently took it. Mike sucked in a breath at the jolt of pain the movement caused.

"Sorry," the paramedic apologized, but began examining it. "Through and through..." he muttered to himself before shouting to his partner. "John!"

"What, Alex?" the man called back before saying something to Harvey.

"It's a through-and-through," Alex called back.

John jerked his chin down the hall. "The kid needs to get to the hospital. We don't have the tools to care for it here. And take him in the ambulance just in case."

The paramedic—Alex—nodded and guided Mike down the hall. "So," he began, and Mike took the distraction for what it was, trying his best to focus on what the man—who looked to be maybe a year younger than Mike—was saying. "That was pretty brave of you." It sounded like the paramedic was trying not to sound impressed, but maybe that was just Mike. After all, he really didn't see anything impressive about what had just happened.

Mike tried to shrug, but it came off as more of a wince.

The paramedic glanced up at him through his long bangs. His mouth quirked. "You're denying that?"

"Still-ah," Mike hissed at the pain. "Trying to take it all in."

The paramedic smiled slightly and shook his head. Mike would have described the look as disbelief. And Mike couldn't really blame him, since he couldn't believe it either. The paramedic pushed the button for the elevator. "I bet."

* * *

"I'm _fine_," Harvey insisted, his genuine annoyance echoing clearly in his tone. It's not like _he_ was the one who had the gun trained on him, which upset him for a reason that he wasn't really sure of. Also, Harvey was rapidly running out of patience.

"I'm just doing my job, sir," the paramedic—John—replied. "But you're all cleared. They took your associ—friend—ah," John scratched the back of his neck, unsure of the relationship between the two men. "Mr. Ross to St. Luke's-Roosevelt."

Harvey rolled his eyes at John and pushed past him as he muttered under his breath, too low for anyone to hear, "He's all three."

"Harvey?" Harvey turned at the sound of Donna's voice, and was nearly blindsided by an uncharacteristically tight hug. Harvey returned it and smiled slightly as Donna growled in his ear, "You guys do that to me again and I will personally kill _both_ _of you_."

Donna pulled back and smiled at him, though her eyes were suspiciously glossy. Harvey offered her a small smile and a meager half-shrug. Donna rolled her eyes and let out a slightly choked laugh before wrapping him in a brief hug again.

"We're fine, Donna," he said when they broke apart again. "No worries."

Jessica approached them, snapping her phone shut. She scanned Harvey before shaking her head. "Only you and your associate would get yourselves caught up in this."

Harvey shrugged nonchalantly. "So I take it that Jack's in custody?"

Jessica nodded. "He is."

"And how—"

"Did he get past security? We're working on that." Jessica sighed. "The current rumor is that he had an inside man."

Harvey nodded distractedly, looking at his watch and reading the time. 's-Roosevelt was about a ten to twenty minute drive, depending on traffic. "Jessica—"

"Sir?" It was their head of security—Patrick Mikkal. "Can I ask you a few questions?"

Harvey paused very briefly before nodding.

"Firstly..." Patrick hesitated, unsure of where to start. "What _happened_? Donna called us saying that a client had come in with a gun?"

"Yes."

"And was holding it against Mr. Ross's head threatening to shoot?"

"Yes."

Patrick shook his head in disbelief. "What was he demanding?"

Harvey smoothed his tie, which had gotten slightly wrinkled sometime between Winchester coming in and the paramedic checking Harvey over. "Winchester wanted us to drop the case."

"And...you refused?" Jessica asked, her surprise making sound like a question.

Harvey looked at her. "If I had just agreed, he would have shot Mike anyway. It was my bartering chip." He paused. "Mike was his."

"So you didn't agree, and that's when he shot Mike?"

"Not exactly," Harvey replied. "I told him that he wouldn't shoot Mike, and he did just to make a point."

Patrick looked confused. "Why did you tell him that?"

"Option 1," Harvey said with a small smile as he remembered his advice to Mike several months prior. Patrick looked further confused, and Jessica tilted her head slightly, but Donna knew what he was referring to and smiled. "Calling his bluff," Harvey explained as the smile faded. _But it didn't work._

Patrick just nodded, writing a few notes down in his notebook. "So he shot Mike. I think we've got the rest. I showed up as Winchester fired the gun. Thank you for your time."

"Of course, Patrick," Harvey replied. A hand was placed on his shoulder and Harvey looked up to see that it was Jessica. She jerked her head.

"Go check on your associate. Don't worry about here. Louis and I can take care of it."

Harvey's eyebrows quirked in slight surprise at hearing Louis's name mentioned, but didn't have time to make the wife-joke he was planning before Donna whispered in his ear, "I've already called Ray. He's waiting outside."

The senior partner nodded and both of them left.

* * *

Harvey was surprised to hear laughter when he walked down the hall of St. Luke's-Roosevelt to where Mike was being taken care of. Donna had received a call from her sister who was visiting, demanding an update. Apparently, Donna had called her to tell her that she would be late getting home but hadn't said much more than "I'll be late, there's a gunman in the office. No, I'm not in the office, but Harvey and Mike are. I'll explain later, goodbye". So her sister had called, insisting on an explanation and an update.

"Hey," Mike was laughingly arguing. "I resent that."

"What?" a young female voice floated down the hall, coated in flirty fake-innocence. "It was supposed to be a compliment."

"But doesn't he always play the villain?" Mike said, and Harvey could hear the grin on his face. "I'd like to think that I'm not a villain."

The senior partner rolled his eyes, because of course Mike would be the one to strike up conversation with a pretty nurse about a movie actor.

"He doesn't _always _play the villain," the girl replied insistently. "Wasn't there that one movie? With the...no. That was someone else." Mike laughed. The girl sounded slightly exasperated, but she had the beginning of a laugh in her voice as she said, "But he's attractive! That has to count for something!"

Harvey rolled his eyes, already knowing what Mike was going to say before he said it.

"Are you calling me attractive?" Mike asked the nurse, just as Harvey arrived at the open door. The girl—who looked to be about Mike's age—blushed and bit her lip. To save her from further embarrassment—but mostly just to annoy Mike—Harvey cleared his throat.

"Oh," the nurse—who's name tag read Jess—said in surprise. "You must be Mr. Specter?"

Harvey nodded, smirking slightly when Mike threw him an annoyed glance. The girl looked down at her clipboard, tucking her straight, blonde hair behind her ear, oblivious to the exchange. "Well, Mr. Ross is free to go. His hand should be in pain for the rest of the day, and sore for a few days after that, but he should make a full recovery—" Harvey saw Mike slump in relief— "and he can go back to work as early as tomorrow. I recommend rest and over the counter pain medication." Jess put down her clipboard. "That about covers it. Oh, and leave the bandages on for a few days. Change them about twice a day. The bleeding's stopped, but we just want to take precautions."

Mike stood and stretched, thanking her as he and Harvey both exited.

"So," Harvey began. "Which actor do you look like?"

Mike smiled slightly. "An _attractive_ one."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "I _really_ need to teach you how to gloat," he replied lightly.

Mike half-heartedly quirked an eyebrow. "Seriously? Mr. I-Am-Two-Awesome-People-That-Don't-Really-Exist?" Mike laughed. "I mean, if you get to be somebody cool, pick one person. You can't be both Kirk and Sherlock Holmes."

"Okay, first of all, at least I can actually gloat. And second of all, you're forgetting one. If you're going to insult me, at least make sure that you cover it all," Harvey responded as they pushed through the double doors and into the hospital lobby.

"Oh?" Mike said sarcastically. "And who am I forgetting?"

"Myself."

Mike groaned. "Doesn't count."

"It definitely counts," Harvey argued just as Donna walked up and joined them. She squeezed Mike's shoulder as she walked up. Mike looked at her and smiled sincerely.

"You can't count yourself, Harvey," Mike said before he pushed the door to the outside open and walked out. Donna grabbed Harvey's elbow, stopping him from following for a moment.

"He's okay?"

Harvey sighed and looked out through the clear glass doors at Mike, who was talking with Ray. "For now."

"You don't think it's really hit him yet," Donna said, and it wasn't exactly a question, but Harvey felt the need to answer it like it was one anyway.

"It hit him almost right after it happened. I'm just...I'm concerned that it'll hit him a little _harder_ once he's alone and thinking about it."

Donna looked at him, almost disapprovingly. "You haven't talked to him." Again, it wasn't a question, but Harvey knew Donna wanted him to reply.

"Didn't really have time," Harvey tried, but knew by Donna's look that she wasn't really buying it. He tried a different tactic. "Look, I'm not even really sure what _I_ think about what happened. And like I said, I don't think it's really hit the kid yet. Give it time. Then I'll talk to him."

Donna accepted the answer, and Harvey walked out and slid into the awaiting town car after Mike and Donna.

* * *

"But I have _stuff_, Harvey!"

This was the argument that Mike Ross kept trying—and failing—to make the senior partner and his assistant buy into so that all three of them could return to the office instead of leaving the associate at his apartment.

Harvey rolled his eyes. "And I will bring you your _stuff_ later. Didn't that pretty nurse you were so casually flirting with tell you to rest and work _tomorrow_? As in, _not today_."

"Okay, one: I wasn't _flirting _with her," Mike said with a frown. "I have a girlfriend. And two: I wouldn't be _working_, I would just be grabbing my stuff."

"One," Harvey returned, "having a girlfriend hasn't stopped you before—"

Mike groaned. "Okay, if you're referring to Rachel: that was one time, and trust me. Never. Again. And I thought you didn't care about my social life?"

"I don't. And _two_," Harvey said pointedly, continuing from where Mike had cut him off. "The nurse told you to rest. And do I tell you how to do _your_ job?"

"Yes," Mike stated exasperatedly.

"The _point is_," Harvey said with a half-hearted eye roll, "that you need your rest. So you are going to your apartment and I'll be around to give you your stuff later."

"But—"

"End of story," Harvey cut him off.

Mike huffed and Donna—who had been sitting in between the two—bit back a smile. They dropped Mike off outside his apartment building. Mike walked to the door and squinted against the light from the setting sun as the town car began its route back to Pearson Hardman.

This was the part that Mike had been dreading. Being alone. He hadn't really cared about the "stuff" he had complained to Harvey about, knowing that he could always just get it the next day. The stuff didn't matter, the "no people" did. For Mike, being alone meant memories and thoughts and coping.

With a heaving sigh that seemed to heave up his emotions with it, Mike turned around and pushed himself through the doors towards his apartment.

* * *

Harvey and Donna both thanked Ray as he pulled up in front of the firm's looming building. Harvey sighed imperceptibly, and if Donna hadn't already been keeping a watchful—if not concerned—eye over her boss, she would have missed it. Perhaps she would have also missed the slight slump of his posture once they were out of sight of the kid. And the brief, whisper fast moment where Harvey hung his head and the events of the day seemed to hang over him like a pendulum ready to drop on top of him before he leaned back into the leather seat and silently stared out the window.

But Donna was Donna, and she was nothing if not observant.

Night had fallen impressively fast, considering that the sun had just been setting when they had dropped Mike off. It was as if the world wanted to give everybody the quiet moments they needed in order to cope with the events of the day. Harvey had been equally quiet, nearly silent after Mike wasn't there. Donna allowed him, knowing that the only reason Harvey really kept any demeanor at all was to give both himself and the kid a brief moment of nonchalant normalcy before they both had to stop and face what had happened.

Despite knowing all of this, Donna was still worried for both the senior partner and his associate.

Harvey was silent the entire way up to his office, and Donna had the fleeting thought—too late—that perhaps she really _shouldn't_ let Harvey go into his office, considering what and where everything had happened. Harvey walked in, pulling out a record and Donna followed the music into his office, standing in front of him as he all but collapsed onto the leather couch.

"Alright," Donna said, causing Harvey to look up at her like he hadn't noticed she had followed him. "Out with it."

"Out with what?" Harvey asked wearily, shrugging out of his suit jacket and performing the uncharacteristic move of running a hand down his face.

Donna motioned to him. "Something's bothering you." She knew it was stating the obvious, but right now she was just trying to prompt Harvey, to give him the chance to say something. Donna was smart, and she knew that sometimes people _needed_ to be prompted, to be aware that people did care and did want to listen if they wanted to talk.

Harvey forced a laugh. "Well, Donna, considering that Jack Winchester tried to kill my associate today, I'd say there's quite a bit "bothering me"."

Donna's gaze softened. "He's more than that," the assistant gently said knowingly. Both of them knew that they were talking about Mike. That he was _more_ than just Harvey's associate.

Harvey looked up at her, and didn't deny it. After what had happened, he wasn't sure how he _could_. "The kid was terrified, Donna."

Donna looked slightly confused; because _of course the kid was terrified_. "You would be too, if someone held a gun against the side of your head," she said carefully, not sure where Harvey was planning to take the conversation.

The senior partner stood up and silently walked across the room to where Donna knew he kept his scotch. Harvey silently poured two glasses and handed one to the redhead, who took it as she watched Harvey walk to the window and look out at the city's nighttime skyline. It was a habit he had picked up over the years, looking out at the skyline whenever something was weighing heavily on his mind.

Donna didn't break the stretch of quiet, filled only with one of Harvey's jazzier records. The secretary knew that Harvey would break the silence when he was ready, and that she would be there when he was.

It didn't take as long as she had thought.

"I read people for a living, Donna."

That wasn't really what she had been expecting. Before she could formulate her response, Harvey continued.

"And I'm _good_ at it." Harvey took a sip of his scotch. "I don't read people wrong." Donna knew better than anyone that Harvey wasn't being arrogant, he was speaking facts. Harvey _was_ good at reading people, and he _didn't_ read people wrong. Harvey still kept his eyes on the buildings outside as he continued. "So why did I read Jack wrong?"

Donna took a sip of her scotch as she realized that _this_ was what had been bothering the senior partner so much. That Harvey thought he had read Jack wrong, and now he was wondering if he was really as good as he thought. He was second-guessing himself, wondering if he was still cut out for his job.

But Donna was perceptive—_very _perceptive. And when she thought about, she knew exactly why Harvey hadn't been able to talk Jack down while Mike could. Donna looked up from her glass of scotch to see that Harvey had turned to look at her, searching for a needed answer to the question he had posed.

Donna sighed. "Did you ever stop to think about _why_ you and Mike work so well together?"

Harvey opened his mouth to reply, but Donna held a hand up as if to say _let me finish_. "You're used to people hiding things from you, having to read them to see what they aren't telling you. But that isn't what Jack needed. You had already found what he was trying to hide, Harvey. What the man _needed_ was to be understood, and like it or not, Mike could." Donna paused as she let her words sink in. "You read people, Harvey, but Mike _understands_ people."

Harvey didn't say anything, just stared at Donna for a few moments before finally nodding. His cell phone buzzing ceased any reply Harvey may or may not have had, and with a quick apologetic glance, he pulled it out of his pocket as he set his forgotten glass of scotch down on his desk.

"Harvey Specter," he answered. He closed his eyes very briefly before saying, "Mike. Mike, calm down...deep breaths. You're okay. I'm heading over right now—"Harvey looked at Donna who nodded, and Harvey turned his attention back to the phone. "Yeah. I know, kid. But you're okay now. Just deep breaths."

Harvey grabbed his suit jacket and walked out of his office.

* * *

It was one of the longest nights of both Mike's and Harvey's lives.

Harvey had ended up crashing on the couch with the half hearted excuse that it was late, he wasn't going to wake Ray at that hour, he wouldn't walk in the dark in New York City, and he didn't trust cab drivers. Mike had rolled his eyes and grabbed a pillow and blanket, handing them to Harvey wordlessly before going to bed himself.

Mike woke up multiple times from a nightmare, which usually contained someone dying. Sometimes he died, sometimes Harvey died. Mike found himself checking in on Harvey on more than one occasion just to make sure that the ones where Harvey died _were_ a dream. That, combined with the fact that Mike really didn't feel much like sleeping in the first place—even _after_ the exhausting conversation he had had with Harvey—Mike figured he had maybe gotten about two hours of sleep total.

If appearances were anything to go by, Harvey hadn't gotten much sleep either. Still, both men decided to go in and work. After all, that Wisowski merger wasn't going to fix itself.

On the walk into the building, Mike had surprised Harvey by asking, "Do you actually know 146 options, or did you just come up with a random number?"

Harvey smiled. "Option 47. Tie person's shoelaces together and hope they trip before shooting you." The answer stopped the associate in his tracks.

"Wait, seriously?" Mike asked before jogging to catch up.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah. Thus concludes "146 Options". I think it'd be cool if Harvey actually had a list of 146 options, though I doubt he does. **

**Anyway, I know that most people don't but PLEASE REVIEW! I CAN'T IMPROVE/DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE IF YOU DON'T REVIEW!**


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